


i can't tell whether the light's green or red

by actualbluesargent



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, I know nothing about the American school system forgive my European ways, I took two of my favourite dramas and combined them okay fight me, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Shut Up Flower Boy Band AU, there's some bromance going on too bc who can resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualbluesargent/pseuds/actualbluesargent
Summary: based on 'shut up flower boy band'; Bellamy's band are transferred to a new school, and quickly find rivals, crushes and more trouble than they're ready for.





	i can't tell whether the light's green or red

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah this is basically based off the Korean drama 'Shut Up Flower Boy Band' which is way better and has way cooler plot points than this and you should definitely check it out. also this is way longer and really different to anything else I've written but hey a coherent style? idk her

 

Really, it should be no surprise to anyone that the gig gets shut down. 

_The Dropship_ is one of the more reputable places Bellamy’s band has ever managed to swing a gig - meaning it actually has a stage, in comparison to just a corner of a crowded room where they can put all the instruments, and the microphone actually works, meaning he can actually be heard over the hammer of the drums behind him. The crowd turnout is pretty impressive too - what Monty’s been calling his ‘aggressive social media frenzy’ actually worked. So Bellamy’s beaming. The lights are warm on his skin, his bones are humming with the sound of the bass over the speakers, and his muscles are straining from jumping up and down. It’s quickly turning into one of the best nights of his life.

And then he sees Octavia trying to get his attention from where she’s standing at the door. 

There were, admittedly, a lot of protestations from the authority figures in his life when he started taking his thirteen year old sister to his gigs. These were, however, the authority figures that weren’t home so often that he _had_ to start taking his younger sister to his gigs.

Also, she’s the only person who’s not in the band who will do stuff for him for free, so, necessary.

Stuff like watch the door of the totally _not_ illegal club that he is totally _not_ having a gig in. She catches his eye, and draws her finger along her neck, before gesturing to the door. Her eyes are wide.  

Cops. 

He stops singing, and leaves the guitar hang from the strap around his shoulders. “Uh, sorry, everyone, but we’re gonna have to -” he glances at his bandmates, who are already gathering their stuff around him, swearing and clutching stuff to their chests with admirable speed. “Cut this one short.” 

He leaps from the stage just as the door burst open. A quick look over his shoulder reassures him that a) it’s still dark enough that the cops haven’t figured out who’s responsible b) Monty _didn’t_ trip over the wires leading from his bass to the club’s amp and c) Miller has Octavia carrying parts of his drumkit. Jasper’s guitar is clutched tightly in his hands as he scrambles down from the stage. Murphy’s ahead of Bellamy, barreling through the fire escape, and he stops worrying about the others, because Murphy can and will leave them all behind if they’re not piling into the van seconds after he does.

“Shit!” Monty says when he climbs into the van last, his bass gripped tight in his hands.

“Dude,” Bellamy cocks his head at Octavia next to him.

“Oh! Shoot. I meant shoot. Sorry, Octavia.” Monty says, not sounding sorry at all. Octavia rolls her eyes, but Bellamy has a feeling it’s aimed more at him than his bassist.

He clears his throat. “So, we all alive?”

Murphy takes that as a sign to floor it, and they’re all nearly knocked back into their seats, robbing anyone of any confirmation or denial of life. They screech around a corner almost immediately, Murphy driving with the hellbent determination of someone who doesn’t need participating in an illegal underground music event added to their record.

They don’t really ask Murphy about his life. They’re too afraid of what he’ll say.

They don’t say anything for the drive, partly because Murphy’s engine roars too loud for conversation, and partly because nerves have stolen their words. The gig at the Dropship was too good to say no to, even if the place didn’t _technically_ have a license for holding events like that. They all took a chance the second they walked in their, and Bellamy’s relieved it paid off.

It’s not until they’re all back in Bellamy’s apartment that they can really talk about it. Miller collapses onto Bellamy’s mattress, which is shoved into the corner of what should be the living room, and lets out a loud sigh. Bellamy falls next to him, and flings his arm over his face.

“Octavia, cover your ears,” he says, and without even checking if she does, he shouts a firm “fuck”.

Next to him, Miller lets out a huff of breath that he thinks is a laugh. “Exactly.” 

Bellamy feels the mattress dip near his feet, which probably means Monty is perching on the edge, leaning against the wall.

“I can’t believe we didn’t get caught,” comes Monty’s voice from, yeah, near his feet. Bellamy pulls himself up to rest on his elbows, and sees the awestruck expression on his face.

“I know!” Octavia says from where she’s sitting on a beanbag. “When the cops knocked the door in I was so sure you weren’t gonna make it out.” She screws up her face. “Sorry, Bell.”

“We made it out cause we’re the greatest band that ever lived,” Miller says, his words muffled by the mattress. Monty lets out a sharp bark of laughter, like he hadn’t been expecting it.

“Totally, the greatest,” he says, only a slight tinge of mockery in his voice. Jasper, ever the supportive best friend, snickers into his palm.

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me, Green,” Miller says, gesturing in Monty’s general direction with his finger, even though he couldn’t see where he was. Murphy walks over from where he had been by Octavia and nudges Monty with his foot.

 “Miller’s not wrong. We’re the greatest. Right, Bellamy?”

 “Yeah,” he says, a smile soft on his face. “We’re legends. Nothing will get in our way.”

 And not to be lame, but for a second, he believes it.

 --

And then their school gets shut down.

Bellamy likes to think that, in another life, he’d like school. Be good at it, even. He likes history, and he knows he’s smart, because he passes his tests despite never actually going to class. Unfortunately for him, Shumway High is probably the least likely school on the east coast for that to ever happen for him.

Since he can’t be proud of anything remotely respectable, like his grades, Bellamy likes to focus on what he can be proud of. So he’s not lying when he says that the fact that he and his band have, collectively, been given detention five hundred times, been suspended thirty times, and been threatened with expulsion at least once a month. None of them have been arrested yet, either. And at Shumway, that makes them golden.

 It’s announced two weeks after their gig at the Dropship that due to failures with the administration, Shumway High will be shut down, its students transferred to various schools in the district. The second this information is announced, Bellamy’s stomach drops. Next to him, actually in class and not getting stoned on the roof for once, Monty voices his fears.

 “What if we get sent to different schools?”

 Bellamy doesn’t really have fears. He lives in what could be classified as a sketchy neighbourhood at best, and carries a penknife on his person at all times, but he can really just count his fears on two fingers. One - losing Octavia. Two - losing the band.

Monty’s features are concerned, and he’s looking at Bellamy with his eyes wide and worried.

 “Not gonna happen.” he flashes Monty a grin that he hopes is more confident than he feels. “There’s no way anybody would even try to separate us. We’re golden, I’m telling you,”

 He claps a hand on Monty’s shoulder, and tries to make himself believe it.

 The envelopes with their respective schools are given out the next Monday, and they’re pathetically thin for something holding their entire futures. Miller gathers them all in the guys’ bathroom, and holds his envelope out in front of him.

 “No matter what happens - we stick together. No new school is gonna change us,” he makes eye contact with all of them, and for the first time in his life, Bellamy’s glad he’s not the one making the speech. Miller nods, and they all start ripping their envelopes apart. Subconsciously, Bellamy starts steeling himself for the worst. He can still play video games at Monty’s with Jasper, and Octavia always likes to see Miller’s baseball games. Murphy will still turn up at all hours of the night to crash at Bellamy’s. They’ll be fine, no matter where they go.

 And then a miracle happens. On all the envelopes, the same letters are staring out at each of them.

 “Holy shit,” Murphy says.

 “Holy shit,” Bellamy agrees.

 “Holy _shit_.” Monty grins, and he’s the one to pull them into a group hug, and just like that, the world aligns again. The road has changed, but the passengers are all the same.

 They’re on their way out of the school, still running high on the relief their four envelopes brought when Miller stops mid-step.

 “Guys. None of us checked which school we’re actually going to.”

 “Fuck,” Bellamy says, reaching to grab the (now rumpled) sheet of paper out of his bag.

 “Well,” Murphy says, reading over his shoulder. “I guess you could say we’re screwed.”

 They’re getting transferred to Arkadia Prep, which is like Shumway’s jerky, older brother who joined a frat and likes to kick the poor kids. The kind of place where they wore _uniforms_. It’s close enough to Shumway that Bellamy’s no stranger to the kind of cars Arkadia students drove, but far away enough that Shumway could still be classified as being in the bad part of town.

 “Does this mean we actually turn up for school now?” Miller muses, seemingly the least phased of the four of them. Monty just stands next to him, face contorted in what looks like an attempt to restrain himself from kicking something.

 Sensing a quick fall in morale, Bellamy just smirks. “Come on, guys. All this means is more rules.” When his friends just look at him like he’s crazy, he elaborates. “More rules to _break._ ”

 At first, the only response is Murphy’s stoney expression melting to a dangerous smile, and then Monty’s face splits into a smile too.

 “Well Jas,” he nudges the boy next to him, and the two share conspiratorial grins. “I’ve always been saying we should start selling weed to rich kids.”

 --

His first day at Arkadia Prep has Bellamy way more nervous than he expected. His tie is too tight around his neck, his uniform is second hand, and itches on his skin. He has to wear a _blazer_ , for god’s sake. 

The congregated faces of his friends outside the doors of Arkadia Prep, when he gets there, reflect similar feelings. Miller has ditched the blazer for a grey hoodie, a beanie pulled over his ears, and Murphy’s tie is nowhere to be seen, and his shirt is open, revealing just a black t-shirt underneath. Jasper has his tie around his head like a mock-bandana, a pair of goggles hanging in its place. Monty has his tie loose around his neck, barely tied, and Bellamy follows suit.

 “Let’s do this,”

 They’re greeted by a middle-aged guy with a beard that has flicks of grey in it, and kind lines in his face who introduces himself as Mr. Kane, the principal. Bellamy doesn’t trust him. Judging from the way he’s watching the five of them, he gets the sense the feeling is mutual. He gives each of the boys a firm handshake, and Bellamy nearly lets out a huff of laughter when he winces as he shakes Murphy’s.

“Boys,” he says. “I’m glad to have you here. I can promise you that we here at Arkadia will treat you better than at your… previous establishment,”

 Miller elbows Bellamy and whispers, “Yeah, that’ll be a high bar to reach,”

 Kane takes them on a tour of the school, showing them their lockers and various homerooms that fly over Bellamy’s head as fast as they’re said. He finishes in the principal’s office. He crosses his arms, and regards the four of them. Bellamy fights the urge to stand up straighter.

 “I know that at your last school, good behaviour wasn’t necessarily… the norm,” he says. Murphy, at Bellamy’s left, starts coughing loudly and roughly, doing a convincing job of covering his laughter. Kane clears his throat. “I want that to change for you here. Arkadia will treat you well, if you return the favour. None of us need for your previous records to be repeated here. Alright?”

When he’s only greeted with silence, he repeats himself. “Alright?”

 “Yessir,” the five of them mumble. He nods, and they move to leave the room.

 “Mr. Blake, a moment.”

Bellamy pulls to a stop, and faces Kane again. He raises his eyebrows, to say ‘I’m waiting.’

 “Mr. Blake, your co-operation in this task would really be much appreciated. I see that your friends follow your lead, and if they see you complying with our rules, I’m sure things will run a lot smoother for us here,” Kane says, leaning against his desk.

 Bellamy just salutes him, tapping two fingers against his temple, before leaving the room.

\--

“Okay Blake, last one. You ready?”

 Having a part-time job singing guides for record companies sounds, Bellamy knows, to be the ultimate dream for the lead singer of a band. Ideally, he’d get to meet all the important record executives, develop a good rapport with them, and when he mentions he has a band, they offer to give them a listen, just out of goodwill.

 In truth, he deals mostly with the session musicians and Charles Pike, an intense, passionate man who liases with songwriters and the popstars who end up singing their songs. And people like Bellamy, obviously.

 The last of the songs he’s to sing today is probably his favourite, a slightly melancholy love song, with a kind of softness and hopefulness, like a confession to someone you might lose. If he was a singer, it’s the kind of thing he’d want to brand as his own, if he wasn’t going to write his own songs.

 " _There’s just one thing I have to say to you - “_

 One thing he likes about singing guides, other than being paid to sing for a few hours, is watching the mechanics behind recording music. The sound engineers and musicians seem to have their own language, communicating solely through finger guns and nods. The dashboards of buttons and lights are unfathomable to Bellamy, one dial indistinguishable from the next, but he likes the precise nature with which the producers handle them.

When the song’s finished, he waves his goodbyes and breaks into a light jog as he makes his way out of the building. He takes his phone off do-not-disturb mode, and gives his messages a quick glance.

  **Octavia** :don’t forget i have soccer after school so u don’t need 2 freak out when im not home when u get there

**Me:** Text me when you’re finished and I’ll come get you

 

**Miller:** Finally got the cajón fixed so we can go street performing again loser

**Me** : Nice

How about today

Text Monty, Jasper and Murphy too

It is when they’re performing on the street that Bellamy has the misfortune to meet Finn Collins. 

Street-performing, busking, is always different to gigs. At a basic level, the equipment’s different; Bellamy and Jasper are armed with acoustic guitars, with Miller on the cajón, a box drum that Bellamy really doesn't understand. 

Playing in the city past seven p.m. is always fun, if not necessarily lucrative. Sometimes they’ve got couples on date nights engaging in slow dances, or, later, drunk college kids trying to join in for a karaoke session. It only figures that eventually one of the rich kids from Arkadia would mess that up for them. 

They’re a group of three, barely in Bellamy’s periphery vision before one of them crashes into Murphy, knocking him into Bellamy.

“Hey man, watch it!” Murphy snarls, and Bellamy grabs his wrist to prevent him from doing something stupid. 

The leader of the trio has floppy, boyband-esque brown hair, and he’s still wearing his Arkadia uniform, albeit with the tie loose and a jacket replacing the blazer. Upon seeing Murphy’s face, enraged, and Bellamy’s hand on his wrist, he just laughs. 

“Whoa, no need to freak out,” Boyband exchanges a look with his companions. “I don’t think we interrupted much anyway.”

He makes an exaggerated look at their complete lack of audience. Bellamy’s opinions of the guy skyrocket from slight distaste, as he generally as for Arkadia students, to near hatred.

“Fuck off,” Miller growls from where he’s sitting on the cajón. Boyband just flicks his stupid hair out of his eyes and looks at him with total unamusement. Bellamy wishes he hadn’t stopped Murphy from punching him.

One of Boyband’s compatriots takes a step towards Miller then. This guy is actually slightly intimidating, with a shaved head and broad shoulders. “You going to make us?”

Boyband puts his hand out to stop him just as Miller rises to his feet. “Mbege. Not now.” He gestures with a weird head-jerk for the three of them to leave, and Bellamy nearly thanks his lucky stars, before Boyband does a double take.

“You’re the Shumway scum that’s joined Arkadia, aren’t you?”

This time, it’s Bellamy’s fist that goes into the air, and Miller who manages to stop him before he makes contact. Boyband laughs again, all gusto that parts of Bellamy are itching to contest.

“My name’s Finn. Watch out for it when me and the guys here show you what a real band sounds like,” he and his troop walk away with that statement, and Jasper audibly gags. 

“What a dick.”

 --

Bellamy had been planning on spending the whole class with his head on the desk. Kane could threaten them to attend school, but he couldn’t make him be an active participant.

 But this girl is honestly arguing for gentrification, and the class is _agreeing_ with her.

 “By bringing infrastructural improvements to the area, the people there become more prosperous. Crime decreases, and standard of living improves! It just makes sense!”

 Bellamy opens one eye to get a look at this girl. She’s white and blonde, her hair pulled back in one of those complicated braids girls do that seem more effort than they’re worth. Her uniform is pristine, probably new (unlike Bellamy’s), and she’s speaking with a wide-eyed fervour that almost makes him feel sorry for her.

 Almost.

 “I’m sorry, but that’s such bullshit,” Bellamy says, sitting up. He gives the teacher a second to look scandalised, before he turns his attention on the girl. Her brow is furrowed, and Bellamy can’t deny the part of him that can’t wait to rip into her argument.

 “Upgrading of these blocks, putting a Starbucks in a poor neighbourhood, renovating a crappy apartment block, it doesn’t improve the standards of living for the people living there. Yeah, the standard of living in the area improves, but that’s cause the raised rent prices force the poor people out, and the richer, often whiter, people that move in _then_ have a better standard of living. ‘Cause they brought it with them.”

 The girl is looking reasonably affronted now, and he wants to push on. But before he can, the teacher at the front of the class speaks.

 “Excuse me, Mr., ah,” he looks at the list on the desk in front of him. “Mr. Blake. While I appreciate your enthusiasm for debate, I would rather if you didn’t interrupt another student.” He regards him. “Or swear in class.”

 Bellamy holds his hands up in surrender. “Whatever the hell you want,”

\--

By lunch of day two, Bellamy is honestly done with Arkadia Prep. The classes drag on forever, the students are a kind of stuck up Bellamy hadn't even _heard of_ before, and one of the teachers yelled at him because his hair was too long. Which, when one compared the guy’s receding hairline and thinning grey locks to Bellamy’s curls, was clearly just plain jealousy.

 Luckily, Monty, in his own, special Monty fashion, saves his first day from spiralling into an abyss. A shitty, tie-wearing abyss.

“Bellamy!” he jumps him from behind as he just leaves the lunch line, armed with the same kind of shit they served in Shumway, but better smelling.

“Monty!” he laughs. “What's up?”

“Where are Nate, Jasper and Murphy? I got something to show you guys. Ditch the lunchmeat, this is worth going hungry for,” he grabs Bellamy by the elbow, dragging him from the cafeteria.

“Who's Nate?”

In moments, Monty has them assembled outside a nondescript classroom.

“Monty, what the hell is this?” Murphy asks, wearing the kind of grumpy expression only attributed to hunger.

Monty gives them all a mischievous grin. “Let me show you.”

He pushes the door open, revealing a padded room, empty at first glance. But tucked in the corner, Bellamy spots a drum set. Miller lets out a low whistle and heads for the set, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against it. Against a further wall, unplugged, sit two fat Marshall amps. 

“Green, you clever bastard! How did you find this?” Miller asks, eyes on the drums and the drums alone. Which is good, because he misses Monty’s ears turning a shade of pink. Bellamy suddenly feels very awkward.

“I-I, uh,” he clears his throat. “Skipped AP Chem to explore the place.”

 “You skipped class? Without us?” Murphy asks, insulted.

“You’re in AP Chemistry?” Miller says, at the same time. Monty looks between them and shrugs. Jasper lets out a whoop of laughter.

Bellamy takes that as his chance to intervene. “Monty, this is great. We can use this as a place to rehearse instead of Miller’s dad’s garage. The guy’s a cop, he can only sway so many noise complaints.”

Miller nods in agreement, and Monty glows with pride.

“Seriously, Green. Next time you skip class. Get me.”

Bellamy’s arm is slung over Miller’s shoulder, a casual affection to remind the bastards at Arkadia that if they mess with one of them, they mess with them all. Miller is engaged in an argument with Monty, who’s walking beside them with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“No, no way! Great Gig in the Sky is _clearly_ superior to-”

They round a corner, and Bellamy collides with someone, sending their books scattering to the floor. He steps back, regarding the blonde girl from class the previous day. He sees a flash of recognition in her eyes, watches her jaw set in an angry lock as she glares at him.

 “You’re not even going to apologise?” she asks. He can’t help the slight smile pulling at his lips.

 “What, Princess? You should have been watching where you were going.” he replies, cutting his eyes sideways at Miller and Monty. Both are watching him with the kind of fond exasperation Bellamy imagines he wears whenever Octavia acts out at home.

 “Oh my god,” she says. “You Shumway guys are real jerks, aren’t you?”

 “What can I say?” he lets the small smile upgrade to a full grin. Quickly, though, he stoops down to gather the girl’s books in his hands. He stands up again and dumps them in her hands.

 “See you around, Princess,” he salutes her, the same half-hearted two fingers he gave Kane the previous day, and goes with Monty and Miller.

 Once they’re out of her earshot, Monty elbows him. “Princess? Who was that?”

 “Just some stuck up girl in one of my classes.” he slings his arms around both boys’ shoulders. “Come on, let’s ditch last class and go play pool.”

 Since pool with Monty and Miller never ends at just one game, and more evolves into some kind of tournament with a point system of Monty’s division that Bellamy himself doesn’t understand, it’s dark by the time he starts walking from the pool hall home. He pulls his phone out, hoping for no missed calls from his mother. He breathes a sigh of relief when there’s only a little envelope in the corner of his screen.

  **Octavia**

mom’s home, wondering where u r.

said u were @ millers.

she’s heading out again so be home by 9 x.

 He fires a quick response back and pockets his phone again.

 Ahead of him, a hat-clad blonde girl leaves the convenience store on the corner with a “Goodnight, Mrs. Woods!”

 Bellamy really has to restrain himself from laughing. If he’s not wrong, the voice belongs to the same girl he bumped into that day. He doesn’t want to call out, to alert her of his presence, and she’s too far away for him to overtake. So he ends up following her at an awkward pace, constantly waiting for her to turn off so he can quicken his pace.

Unfortunately for him, his boots are the kind that make noise no matter where he is, and she figures out there’s someone behind her, and she whirls around.

 “What are you doing?” she says, forcing him to skid to a halt. She’s holding something in her hand that he suspects could be pepperspray. He doesn’t want to find out.

 “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m walking home. What are _you_ doing?”

 “Are you following me?” she asks, as if he could be lying about walking home. Which, yeah, in theory he _could_ be, but he’s kind of offended that’s what she thinks of his character.

 “Listen, Princess, why would I follow you home? Do I really look that creepy to you?” he pauses, and looks around. They’re effectively in Bellamy’s neighbourhood. “Wait. Do you live around here?”

 Her mouth opens to respond, but then closes. He just crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. He gets her hesitation. It is, effectively, the poor part of town, and he’ll admit he’s curious as to what a rich girl with a perfect uniform and features like they’ve never suffered hardship in her life is doing here. Where she’s wrong is that she thinks he cares.

 Finally, she cracks. “Yes. For the moment, I’m living… here.”

 She looks at him with a kind of defiance that dares him to ask why. Kind of like she doesn't want him to ask, but also does, so she can kick him in the balls about it.

 Bellamy prefers his balls un-kicked, thank you very much. So he just says something way worse.

 “Cool. Do you want me to walk home with you?”

 “Do I want you to _what_?”

 He blushes. “I mean, it's dark, this area isn't the safest. Do you want to walk with me, at least for a while? Better the weirdo you know than the weirdo you don't, that's what I always say.”

 She just glares. “I'm fine, thanks.” But she doesn't move.

 Still, Bellamy just shakes his head, and heads up the hill, further up the block. When he doesn't hear her footsteps following him, like he figures they should, he hesitates, and just starts walking on the spot.

 When she catches up, he grins at her.

 “Shut up,” she mutters.

 “I wasn't saying anything,” he laughs, then clears his throat. “I, uh, never got your name.”

 She considers him for a moment. “Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

 He holds out his hand for her to shake. “Bellamy. Uh, Blake.”

 She shakes his hand, looking at him again like she can't quite trust him. He just bats his eyelashes at her.

 He can’t help notice, annoyingly, that she’s actually really pretty. Her hair falls in gentle wisps against her face, and her eyes are a pretty kind of blue, the kind that could be grey. Her features are soft, but he remembers from earlier how angry they can be. He has to fight the childish instinct in him to pull her pigtails and tease her.

 They keep walking until they reach Bellamy’s apartment block.

 “Okay, this is me,” he says

 “I'll let you go here,” she says, at the same time. She looks up at him blankly. He just laughs.

 “Oh man, we’re in the same building. Naturally. Okay, Clarke, after you,” he says, holding the door open for her, dodging her glares when he follows her inside. 

\-- 

Since Monty found them the practice room, it’s only a matter of time before Jasper finds a real reason for them to use it. Seriously, it’s like the two of them are contractually obliged to be this creepy level of synchronized.

 They’re all over at Bellamy’s apartment playing cards when Jasper arrives, late as always, brandishing a poster with a wild glee in his eyes. “Polis Entertainment Annual Rock Festival,”

 “Huh?” Miller asks, not even looking up from his cards.

 Monty, always on Jasper-speed, snatches the poster out of his hands and scans it, before shoving it in front of Bellamy. “Take a look at this! ‘Polis Entertainment’, blah blah blah, ‘invites local bands to submit CDs for a chance to participate in their annual rock concert.’ Guys, this is so cool!”

 He and Jasper do their weird self-five thing, while Bellamy actually reads the details of the poster. The festival acts in part as a competition, with first place winners getting a cash prize of $1000. The poster declares little restrictions on entry, only that all entrants must be seventeen or older.

 “Shit, Jasper, this could actually be really good,” he says, handing the poster to Miller. Octavia, beside him, mock-gasps at his swearing, but he just rolls his eyes at her.

 “Yeah, not bad, Jordan,” Murphy adds. Bellamy’s not going to say Jasper glows with pride, but he definitely glistens with validation.

 “Do you guys even have a song you could put on a CD? Half of what you do is covers.” Octavia says. Bellamy hooks his arm around her head and presses his lips against her hair.

 “Thanks for being our biggest fan as always, O. We’ll figure it out.”

 He can’t stop himself from laughing a little, in an excited, giddy way. This, of course, prompts Jasper and Monty to join in too, and even Miller smiles a little.

 “So, practice tomorrow then?” Murphy asks, a grudging smirk tugging at his mouth.

 “You know it.”

 Their rehearsals go great. Until Finn Collins shows up.

 Conversations about the song they’d choose to submit became arguments that came close to fists flying, but the five of them finally agree on a song Miller wrote, ‘ _Thief_ ’, whose subject he refused to share with them. And once they do agree, it really feels like smooth sailing from there. They work as a cohesive unit, they always have, with Monty and Jasper playing off each other’s energy, hyping the rest of them up, and Miller actually grinning as he hammers the drums.

 Yeah, there’s slip ups, like Jasper messing up the guitar solo every now and again, or Murphy changing his keyboard to animal sounds just to fuck with them. But yeah, they’re doing really well, and Bellamy can’t help feeling giddy at the prospect of being on stage at the rock festival, sharing the experience with his best friends, basking in the cheers together.

 So it was only a matter of time before someone came and screwed all that up.

 It’s after school, and they’re about halfway through Miller’s song when the door to the practice room swings open. There’s a screeching sound from one of the amps, like what happens when a microphone gets too close to it, and Finn ‘Boyband’ Collins walks in.

 “Oh, and my day was going so well,” Jasper mutters, next to Bellamy.

 Bellamy gets a brief moment of delight at Finn’s obvious anger upon seeing them. It’s weirdly satisfying to know you bother someone as much as they bother you.

 “Do you mind?” Miller calls from the drumset. “We’re kind of busy.”

 “Doing what?” Finn says, and Bellamy genuinely isn’t sure if he’s just playing to be a dick, or if he actually doesn’t know.

 “What does it look like? Rehearsing, dumbass.” Murphy answers, the only one of them who could say it like that without actually sounding like he was offended.

 “Rehearsing? What could you possibly be rehearsing for? Your next expedition out to the streets? I know you can’t keep those hungry fans waiting long.” Finn says this with a look over his shoulder at his compatriots, validating his comedic talent.

 “None of your business, Collins.” Miller warns from behind the drums. His hands are tight around his drumsticks, and Bellamy really hopes he keeps them there.

 Finn’s eyes catch on the poster, where they’ve hung it as motivation. “Wait… No way. Not for the Polis Entertainment festival. You really think guys from Shumway High could get into a competition that prestigious?”

 There are times in Bellamy's life where he feels like his mouth goes on autopilot and all his brain can do is watch in despair. Every rational thought in his head, any self-preservation instinct he has going out the window, and -

 “No, we don’t think we’ll get in. We think we’ll win.”

 “Oh, man, this is rich.” Finn laughs, and takes a step closer to where Bellamy’s standing. “It’s going to be tough, if you have nowhere to rehearse.”

 “What do you mean, nowhere to rehearse?” Monty asks, speaking up for the first time.

 A smug grin comes over Finn’s face. “Well, we’ve booked out the practice room for the next two months. This place is ours.”

 “Bullshit. You can’t do that.” Murphy says.

 Finn cocks his head to the side. “What, you thought this room was just free for anyone to use, whenever you wanted? Now, I can guess how things were done in Shumway, but things here and _rules_ and _order_. So yeah. We can do that.”

 Maybe it’s because Bellamy’s spent so much time around his bandmates, but he genuinely can feel their overall moods dipping drastically. So he does something dumb.

 “What, you’re too afraid of decent competition that you’re gonna try and cut us off at the knees? Please, Collins. Pretend you’re not intimidated, at least.”

 Since he went to Shumway, it’s not surprising that Bellamy’s been in fights. But it’s because he says stuff like that that gets him punched in the face sometimes. It’s like the reasonable part of his brain turns off and his pride takes control.

 Finn looks torn between laughter and scorn. He steps towards them, and for a minute, Bellamy thinks he’s actually going to get hit. He knew things had been going too well for too long.

 Instead, Finn just crosses his arms. “How about we make a competition out of it? In two weeks, we’ll hold a little contest in here, and let the school decide who gets to use the room. How about it?”

 He’s got a confident and condescending grin on his face, and wow, Bellamy really can’t wait to wipe it off his face.

 “Fine.” he says. “Try not to miss your room too much, okay?” 

\-- 

It seems like it’s only fair, through some kind of karmic retribution, that one of the only nights Bellamy is alone in the apartment, there’s barely any food to be seen, sparing only, it seems, a packet of Doritos and a half empty carton of milk.

He’s lucky, at least, that the nearest convenience store is close enough that the journey is more inviting than going to Miller’s and getting pity food from his father. The lights are the kind of aggressive fluorescent that makes Bellamy sort of feel like he’s entered the Twilight Zone. But they have basic food supplies, so he’s all for it.

He’s got most of what he wants for a stirfry that he can freeze later when he sees a familiar blonde head among one of the aisles.

“Clarke?” he asks, taking a step closer.

 She’s bent over the freezer, dressed more casually than he’d expect she could, a loose grey hoodie and leggings, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

 “Bellamy? What are you doing here?”

He laughs a little. “I don’t know if you remember, but I live near here. I’m here for the same reasons as you, I bet.” He nods to the freezer. 

“Yeah, my mom’s … out and so I’m uh, grabbing dinner.” she gestures to the freezer, which, upon further inspection, is filled with frozen pizzas. 

Bellamy can feel his instincts as an Older Brother taking over. “Frozen pizzas? Clarke, there’s zero nutritional value in those.” 

She blinks at him. “Nutritional value? Aren’t you a teenage boy? SInce when do teenage boys care about nutritional value?”

She says it with a smile, but there’s a curiosity in her eye that Bellamy’s not sure if he trusts or not. His reaction, like any time a cute girl teases with him when he’s not prepared, is to go gruff.

“I’m an older brother. It’s part of my personality.”

 That gets a laugh out of her, fast, but bright. “Okay, then what are you doing for dinner? Salad? No, a meal with all important food groups? Give me tips on how I should fend for myself.”

 He scratches the back of his neck, and considers her. It’s late enough that he’s definitely going to insist on waiting until she’s done to walk home with her, and something deep inside him feels deeply wrong at her eating a crappy frozen pizza when he could provide her with a real, nutritional meal. So he ignores all the ‘ _shut up you idiot_ ’ alarm bells, and does something really stupid.

 “If you want, you can come back to mine, and I can show you?” he regrets it the second he says it, but doesn’t allow himself take it back. “No one should have to resort to frozen pizza. I’ll feed you, I was going to have left over food anyway.”

 She doesn’t respond immediately, and Bellamy starts thinking of all the neighbourhoods he could probably afford to move to. But she smiles a little, and his embarrassment lessens slightly.

 “Okay,” she says. “We’ll give it a shot.”

 She waits for him by the door as he pays for the ingredients, and she even offers to pay for some of them. He brushes her off, insisting that he would have been paying for all of them regardless of feeding her or not.

 They start the walk back to the apartment block, and Bellamy can actually feel the weight of the silence surrounding them. Even looking at her now, casually as she is dressed, he can’t help but be aware of how little the two of them have in common. The holes in the elbows of his jacket feel less like he’s making a fashion statement and more like he’s too scruffy to get them fixed. Luckily, Clarke speaks before he can over-think himself to an early grave.

 “So, you’re an older brother.”

 “Yeah.” he tries to make himself stop there, but like a parent of an overachieving child, the words seem to tumble out of his mouth on their own accord. “I have a little sister, Octavia. She’s thirteen, which she thinks means I no longer have to look out for her. I mean, she’s wrong, but she won’t accept that. She’s, uh, at a sleepover tonight.”

 She laughs softly, like she’s not used to it. “Which is why you invited me over,”

 Bellamy splutters, and starts scrambling around for a response. “No, it’s not - I would have, god, it’s -”

She laughs again. “I’m joking. I don’t think you’re trying to seduce me. If you were, you wouldn’t insult my choices on food and it’s nutritional value.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I think you place too much confidence in me actually having seduction skills,”

“Oh, come on!” she looks at him incredulously. “You know what girls at school have been saying about you since you transferred?”

He glances over at her to make sure she’s not joking. The weird yellow-amber of the streetlights catches her blonde hair and make it look like she’s surrounded by a halo. She’s looking at him expectantly, like it’s only obvious that people at school would be talking about him. And if he puts more than five seconds thought into it, it makes sense. A group of five students from a school that was _shut down_ due to the administration not being able to handle its students arrive, it only makes sense the gossip mills started churning.

Finally, he comes up with a response. “Well, now I want to.”

“Well, _apparently_ , at your old school, you were a real player. People say you broke hearts everywhere you went.” she says it with enough humour that he can tell she finds it as ridiculous as he does.

“It wasn’t hearts I broke.” he shrugs. “Windows. Tables. Doors, sometimes.”

She lets out half a laugh, like she wasn’t expecting it. “Okay, I’m torn between wanting to hear everything about Shumway and nothing about it at all.”

He’s saved from answering as they arrive at the apartment block. 

Part of him is dimly aware that he should be self-conscious about his apartment as he pushes the door open, letting Clarke step in behind him. His mattress shoved into the corner of the “living room”, all their furniture is second hand or older, and the kitchen equipment is nothing to brag about. But if Bellamy felt shame over that kind of thing, he wouldn’t have lasted past day one in Arkadia. Clarke knows he’s poor, no reason to pretend he isn’t.

“I was going to make fajitas? Leftover chicken is easy to freeze. That okay?”

She fans her hands out in front of her. “Listen, you’re feeding me. I will literally eat anything.”

He laughs softly, and starts preparation. He’s distantly aware of her moving around the apartment, hears her strum her fingers absently-mindedly against the guitar strings. He nearly reminds her that he’s supposed to be showing her how to cook for herself, but he can’t actually bring himself to admit he wants an excuse to talk to her. In his own apartment. Yeah, definitely not a renowned heartbreaker.

When the food’s ready, he serves it up and places the plates on the kitchen table, which is covered in so much miscellaneous junk that the only available places are right next to each other. Clarke slides into the chair next to him, after moving a pile of Octavia’s school books onto the table.

“So can I ask you something?” he says, when they’ve nearly finished eating. She looks over at him, eyebrows raised.

“You just did,” she smirks. 

He rolls his eyes.“Don’t be a dick.” 

“You started it.” she nudges him with her elbow. “Go ahead.” 

“I have to wonder - what’s a girl who seems pretty well off, going to Arkadia Prep, doing living in this part of town? Get so mad about what I said the other day that you decided to try poverty out for yourself? I can promise you, it’s not fun.” 

She screws up her mouth a little, like she’s trying to decide on the best way to answer the question. He didn’t mean it necessarily as such a serious question, but he has to admit he’s curious. So he waits. 

“My mom, she’s - she was - a doctor in Paige University Hospital. She’s a legacy, her grandfather founded the place. And the hospital, they were receiving money, donated from the public and from the government to maintain life-support systems and-” she pauses, runs her hand through her hair, releases a breath. He can’t tell if she’s told the story before, or if she’s just terrifyingly composed. “The guys at the centre of it all were skimming money off the top, and my mom knew about it. So just to increase their own paychecks, people were being taken off life-support earlier than the fund was supposed to provide for.”

She’s not looking straight at him, her eyes focused on a point in the corner of the room. “And the worst part,” she chokes. “The worst part is… a few years ago, my dad was in a car crash. He was in a coma, but they were actually pretty confident he would, you know, wake up. But these guys at the head of the hospital, to … to try and remove suspicion, they took my dad off life-support too early. And my mom, she did _nothing._ ” 

“Clarke -” 

She wipes at her eyes before any tears actually risk rolling down her cheeks. “But uh, they were found out. My mom too. She’s in hiding, now, actually. To avoid a prison sentence, I guess. She left me with a little money, just to rent my place and to pay for food and stuff. My dad left some money for me too, but I don’t get access to it until I’m eighteen.”

She clears her throat. “So, that’s the whole gruesome story. Sorry to, ah, dump it all on you like that. No one at school knows.” 

He resists the impulse to put her arm around her or something equally inappropriate, and just nods. “Thanks for telling me. That, ah, wasn’t meant to be such a loaded question.” 

She laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry. I haven’t really talked about it since it happened so that was sort of - floodgates.”

He smiles. “Yeah, well, it happens. Now come on, just because you’re the guest, doesn’t mean you don’t have to help with the washing up.”

After a whole evening hanging out with Clarke, there’s a part of Bellamy that feels like he’s crossed an unspoken line. Consorting with the enemy, or something. Though he thinks the band would actually like Clarke, if they hung out with her, he can’t help but feel jumpy any time he’s in class with both her and one of the guys. As if she’s going to come over and talk to him, and Miller’s going to tell her to fuck off to her face. 

He’s just leaving the classroom to go meet Monty and Miller for lunch when he nearly crashes into her. He tries to play it off, not wanting to suffer her wrath again, stepping to the side to get out of her way. This isn’t helped, of course, when she goes to do the same thing in the same direction, and they’re locked in the awkward side-stepping dance. 

Finally, he grabs her elbows and pulls her to one side of the door, and steps the other way. 

“Griffin,” 

“Blake.” 

He clears his throat, and when he sits next to Miller and Monty, he is, admittedly, a little distracted. They’re mid-conversation, which stops the second he sits down. He doesn’t realise MIller is trying to get his attention until he waves his hand in front of his face. 

“Bellamy.” 

“Yeah, sorry. What’s up?” 

Miller gives him a weird look. “Uh, Monty was saying that Jasper was thinking we could probably rehearse in the practice room after school. What do you think?” 

Bellamy grins. “That’s against the rules.” 

Monty mirrors him. “Exactly.” 

- 

There’s a thrill Bellamy gets, being in Arkadia after hours, that explains why he was always getting into trouble at Shumway. It brings him the kind of freedom that pulls his mouth into a smile and makes him want to kick something down, just because he can. Judging from the wicked smile Murphy flashes him as he opens the door for them, and the little laugh Monty lets out when they pass a security guard unnoticed, the band feels the same. 

Maybe it’s the adrenalin from finally breaking _real_ rules again, or maybe it’s the desire to stick it to Finn, but the rehearsal is charged with an energy so potent Bellamy feels like he could tap into it and power his entire apartment block. He’s laughing through the whole thing, and he’s still laughing when they leave the school, clinging his guitar tight in his hands. 

He’s still smiling when he’s walking up the hill to his apartment block, and he sees - 

Well, to be honest, he’s not entirely sure what he sees at first. He registers the individual items he sees, but only on an individual level, not as part of a whole. Fire escape. Ladder. Clarke. 

Attempt number two: Clarke, holding a ladder, on the fire escape. 

“Clarke?” he asks once he gets closer. 

“Bellamy!” she looks like a mix between relieved and embarrassed when she sees him. 

“What are you doing?” 

She drops her gaze. “Um, trying to get out of my apartment.” 

“Do you not have a front door for that?” 

“Yeah, usually, but - ” she pauses. “There’s some guys at my door, some really pissed off family members of patients, I guess. They’re looking for my mum, and I’m a little afraid to answer the door, but I can’t just keep ignoring them, so, this was my best option.” 

Given the circumstances, Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be as amused as he is. But amidst the smile pulling at his mouth, an idea takes formation in his head. “Look, stay up there, alright?” 

He tightens the guitar case around his shoulder, and starts cracking his knuckles. The distance from the fire escape to the ground is only a few feet above his head, but it’s going to require some serious upper arm strength. 

“Take a step back,” he says, and braces himself. He jumps, and starts to (absolutely ungracefully) pull himself onto the fire escape. Clarke, at least, when she figures out what he’s doing, helps to pull him up.

 “Here’s an idea,” he says, when he’s up and caught his breath. “Stay at mine.” 

Clarke looks at him, unimpressed. “What?” 

“Did you have a plan after getting out of your apartment?” he asks. She opens her mouth to answer, but closes it again. “Right. Listen, you’re scared of the people coming to your door. But do you have anywhere to stay? You said your mom’s in hiding too. No offense, but it looks like I’m you’re only option.” 

Clarke regards him for a minute, sizing him up. He struggles keeping her gaze, and it’s only his certainty that he’s in the right that keeps him from looking away. 

“Okay,” she concedes. She gestures back up the fire escape. “Lead the way.” 

“Well, we should go to your place first, so you can get some stuff to sleep in or whatever. Then we can go to mine, cool?”

She nods. “Cool.” 

If any part of Bellamy’s brain was really engaged on the walk up the stairs, he would have expected Clarke’s place to be nicer than his. Same apartment block does not equal same apartments. She has a TV in the corner that looks like it was bought this year, and a proper sofa, instead of a mattress pushed up against the wall. He can’t help but notice, though, that the layout of the apartment is similar to his, and when she shows him her room, it’s where, in his apartment, Octavia’s room is. Where Octavia has her bed lengthways next to the window, Clarke has her desk there, with the bed against the wall facing the door. It’s a totally useless observation, but it helps distract him from the fact he’s _in her room_.

She’s grabbing clothes and shoving them in a bag, and Bellamy lets his eyes wander the room. There’s nothing extraordinary - some movie posters hung on the walls, schoolbooks piled on the desk, along with what looks to be a sketchpad. He’s about to take a step closer to have a look when she speaks.

“Okay, let’s go, get out of my room,” she pushes him gently in the direction of the door. He smiles at her, not in a way he usually would, but the kind of flirty smile that he can’t help sometimes.

“What, nervous, Princess?” he tilts his head a little.

She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Blake.”

Octavia’s still up when they get to the fire escape, and she gives Bellamy an unimpressed eyebrow raise from the beanbag chair when Clarke steps in after him.

“O, this is Clarke,” he says, and Clarke gives a half-hearted wave.

“Hey,” Octavia says, _totally_ unsuspiciously.

“Uh, she needs to stay here tonight, okay? Don’t,” he points at her for emphasis. “Ask questions.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “Yeah, whatever. I was gonna go to my room anyway, I’ll give you two some privacy.” She puts air-quotes around ‘privacy’, before heading out of the living room.

“O, it’s not like - ” he calls after her, but it’s too late.

“Sorry.” he adds to Clarke. She just looks amused.

“No, it’s fine. She’s thirteen, right?”

Bellamy grins, admittedly pleased she remembered. “Yeah, so she’s borderline unbearable. She’s great, though.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, just smiles, and Bellamy feels himself growing increasingly fond of her. He clears his throat.

“Anyway, you can sleep on the mattress there. I’ll be setting up in here too, but just next to the mattress, okay?”

He directs her to the bathroom so she can get changed, and he gets a few quilts and a pillow to lay them out on the floor for him to sleep on. The floor wouldn’t be his first choice to sleep on, but Clarke’s the guest. He’s intensely grateful he changed out of his uniform earlier, so he can just head to sleep in his t-shirt and sweatpants.

He feels weird just waiting for her from his makeshift bed, so he switches on the TV, just to find something to do. He hears her feet padding on the floor, but doesn’t turn to look at her until she’s settled on the mattress. Her sleepwear nearly mirrors his, and he lets out a small huff of laughter. She raises her eyebrows at him, but he shakes his head.

“Have you seen Ocean’s Eleven?” he asks, gesturing at the TV. “This channel’s only a few minutes in, we can watch it if you want,”

“Yeah, sounds good, I haven’t seen it.” she replies, and he’s glad she’s decided to just power through any weirdness about the situation, which was his plan. They sit in silence, for awhile, watching as George Clooney and Brad Pitt plan their heist.

“Bellamy?” she says, quietly, just after Julia Roberts has made her first appearance.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” she says, softly, and he doesn’t know how to respond, so he just gives her a small smile.

When he wakes up, bleary eyed and confused, the light bleeding into the room is brighter than he’s used to, and he realises he fell asleep before closing the curtains. His pillow is under his head, as expected, and at first he doesn’t think anything of the duvet pulled up to his chin, until he remembers that he gave it to Clarke.

The mattress, where he had left Clarke, is empty, and the bag she had brought with her is nowhere to be seen. Still half-asleep, he runs his hand through his hair before collapsing onto the mattress she had, at some point, vacated.

Maybe it’s because he never saw her leave, but all day Bellamy is, against his will, worried about Clarke. It’s not something that’s constantly on his mind, but periodically throughout the day he’ll get a little niggling thought that wonders if he should check in with her before going home.

He does actually forget about it, until he’s walking home, and sees her ahead of him, taking slow enough paces that Bellamy can guess she’s trying to put off getting home. He starts speeding up, and opens his mouth to call out to her like three times, but only succeeds on the fourth.

“Clarke!”

She spins around, her face scrunched up in scrutiny until she recognises him. She gives him a wave, and lets him catch up.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” he says, and they fall into step alongside one another. They spend the rest of the walk home in silence as he tries to think of something to say that isn’t “So you left early this morning,” or anything that someone would say after a one-night stand.

They reach the apartment block, and Clarke is apprehensive just before they turn the corner to go in the main door. Bellamy makes himself count to three, as he watches her eyes sweep the building.

“Do you want me to go check?” he asks, and she looks at him, stunned. When she just blinks at him, he rolls his eyes. “Go by the fire escape.”

It only takes a matter of minutes for him to get inside and get the elevator to Clarke’s floor. He’s not really sure what he’s expecting to see, but when he’s greeted only with empty hallways, he’s hit with  really unprecedented relief. Instead of thinking about it or analysing that as an emotion in any shape or form, he ignores it. He gets the elevator to his, and climbs out on the fire escape. Looking down, Clarke is far away and small, but he has no trouble seeing the grin she gives him when he shoots her a thumbs up.

He’s about to go back inside his apartment when a thought pops into his head, and once he thinks of it, he can’t shake it. Before he can talk himself out of it, he climbs the fire escape back up to Clarke’s, and raps on the window.

It takes her a minute or so to get to the door. “What?”

He puts his hand out. “Let me give you my number. If someone like that comes by again, call me or something, okay?”

She rolls her eyes, but hands her phone over.

\--

 

The weirdest thing about the whole transfer to Arkadia, for Bellamy anyway, is how quick the school is to adapt to it. It’s as if every teacher had been handed a sheet with their pictures and names, along with large lettering - DO NOT TRUST THESE BOYS. Some teachers, he’s pretty sure, think his name is ‘Blake Dress Code’ for the amount of times they say it to him. It’s the same with the students. Bellamy used to be able to just give someone a dirty look for them to startle and get out of his way, but now they either steer clear of him, or pay him no attention altogether. It’s a little disconcerting, and really no way similar to the near constant violence and tension in Shumway.

He brings it up to the others one day after band practice, when they’re all unplugging instruments and getting ready to sneak back out of the school.

“People will really get used to anything,” he concludes, once he’s communicated all this to them.

“It’s like - ” Monty starts, setting his bass down. “You know that saying, familiarity breeds contempt? It’s like that, but backwards. They’re so used to not liking us, it’s become part of their daily routine. I bet, if we left, Finn would cry into his pillow every night, ‘cause he wouldn’t have anyone to glare at.”

Miller makes a sound that’s nearly a laugh. “Yeah, that’s exactly what would happen.”

“Bellamy’s not wrong, though.” Jasper points out, clicking open his guitar case. “For ages, we were this weird, rule-breaking entity, whose only purpose was for gossip, but now, avoiding us is, like, the norm, and no one really cares about us anymore.”

“Wow, thanks Jasper. Way to make us feel special.” Bellamy says.

“I get what he’s saying. Like, say I started dating Monty.” Miller starts.

They all turn to look at him. Bellamy just blinks at him. “What?”

“No, okay, listen. Say I started dating Monty. It would be weird, at first, right? It’d change the whole group dynamic. The two of us would start spending more time, just the two of us. But after a while, the rest of you would get used to it, and it’d just be how it is. That’s what we’re like to the Arkadia student body. We shook things up, but now, it’s just how it is.”

They all stand in contemplation for a minute. Monty, to Bellamy’s right, has his eyes fixed on the floor, his hands fidgeting at his side.

Murphy just looks at Miller in mock-awe. “Shit, Miller, I don’t think you’ve ever said that many words all at once.”

“Fuck you, Murphy.” Miller says lightly.

Jasper, brow furrowed, looks to him. “Wait, Miller, was that - are you gay?”

“That wasn’t the point of that, numbnuts.” Miller chucks one of his drumsticks across the room at him, but bows his head slightly.  “Yeah, okay, I am. Problem?”

The rest of them all exchange a look, and just shake their heads.

“Good.” Miller says, and pretends he’s not glad, but Bellamy can see right through him.

 --

The competition for the practice room creeps up on Bellamy faster than he expected. It’s not like he thinks they’re not ready -  they’ve been trying to sneak into the school as often as they can, and Bellamy practices at home, but still, the day of the competition is upon them after what feels like only seconds since Finn made that dumb challenge.

Part of what bowls him over, he thinks, is that the school takes to it like hellfire. Because, honestly, what Bellamy was expecting, was a whole room full of people who were ready to vote for Finn’s band, people who either didn’t care or didn’t like their band, purely by virtue of them being from Shumway.

But people are talking about them, and not even the way they did when they first arrived at the school. Girls giggle when they walk by, and some of the guys in Bellamy’s classes whisper votes of confidence to Bellamy during class. Someone even started handing out badges with their band names on them. People are actually excited for this, which Bellamy absolutely did not think was going to happen.

The competition’s at two, so that basically means Monty and Jasper are a hive of nervous energy all day. Miller is more the type to internalise his worry, just going more silent instead of actually communicating, and Bellamy can’t actually figure out if Murphy really cares, but Jasper and Monty are practically buzzing. Jasper’s fingers are constantly practicing his solo, and Monty is talking physics at a hundred miles a minute, just at _anyone_.

They’re outside, around the back of the school, awkwardly waiting for time to inch closer to two when disaster strikes. Bellamy’s messing around on his phone, half aware of Monty to his left, talking at Miller, who’s listening to him with a patience Bellamy has never possessed. Jasper’s practicing with air-guitar, like he has been all day, and Murphy’s smoking… something. Bellamy doesn’t want to know.

Miller’s always called him a nerd for keeping up with current events, which doesn’t even make _sense_ \- knowing what’s going on isn’t _nerdy_ , Miller, it’s common sense - and Jasper just calls current events ‘stuff you wish you could unread’, which, he usually disagrees with. Until a little notification comes in ‘ _Local police issue arrest warrant for Dr. Abigail Griffin relating to fraudulent activities in Paige University Hospital_ ’, making Bellamy _really_ wish he could unread it.

He can’t even say anything to the others, because they don’t even know who Clarke _is_ , not really, and even if they did, they wouldn’t get why it was important. Still, he has to do something.

“Hey, guys, there’s something I have to do really quick, okay?” he says, not checking for confirmation before heading at a light jog back into the school.

Clarke, when he finds her, is walking with a group of people, one of whom happens to be Boyband himself - Finn Collins.

Bellamy pulls to a stop in front of her, and immediately wishes she was by herself, so he could just talk to her. Instead, she’s looking at him, expectantly, in front of her friends (one of which is Finn fucking Collins), who have, to Bellamy’s knowledge, never even seen the two of them interact. Ever.

Finn’s narrowing his eyes at him, and looks like he’s about to say something, but Clarke beats him to it. “Uh, hi, Bellamy?”

Finn turns his attention to Clarke, all confusion, but Bellamy can’t even enjoy it. He looks at Clarke for a second, and decides to bite the bullet. “Uh, yeah, can we talk for a second?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, sure.”

Going against his better judgement, he grabs her wrist, and starts pulling her around the corner, but he lets go once she starts to move.

He checks over his shoulder to make sure there’s no one around, and then checks the time. 13:56. He’s fine. Probably.

“Bellamy.” Clarke says. “What’s up?”

She’s looking at him with concern, and he really wishes he could unread that notification.

“Uh, listen,” he tries for a second to vocalise the news, but chickens out and pulls out his phone. “You should read this before someone else does.”

He watches her eyes as she scans the article - he only read the headline, but judging from the way she bites her lip, the whole thing can’t be any good. He doesn’t want to worry - maybe the kids at Arkadia won’t care. But he thinks back to what she said before, about no one at school knowing, and he can’t help but presume there had to be a reason for that.

Clarke lets out a slow breath. “Okay.”

“Is this gonna be a problem for you?” he asks, not actually sure what he wants the answer to be.

“Not yet,” she shakes her head, as if to emphasise her point. “Maybe later, when people start checking their phones and stuff. But right now, this contest will probably take priority.”

Bellamy purses his lips. “You’re sure?”

“Not everyone’s like you, checking the news randomly through the school day,”

He lets out a small laugh at that. “Okay, but if something happens, let me know, and I can get you out of there.”

She doesn’t point out that she has other friends who could take care of her. She doesn’t point out that they haven’t even known each other that long. She doesn’t point out that this is the longest they’ve spoken to each other at school. She just nods, and smiles.

She jerks her head. “Let’s go, I think you have a contest, or something.”

“Or something, yeah.”

By the time they reach the practice room, both of the bands have gathered inside, along with a sizable crowd of students. Bellamy’s friends give him a few skeptical looks when Clarke walks in behind him, mostly raised eyebrows, or in Murphy’s case, a shit-eating grin that has Bellamy concerned for Clarke’s wellbeing as well as his own. There’s some murmuring from Clarke’s friends, a few of them glancing at Bellamy like he had threatened Clarke in front of them. As if he hadn’t only asked to _talk_ to her. All the weird looks are worth it, though, because Finn is glaring at him from the other side of the room. Seriously, he didn’t even _do_ anything.

“All good?” Miller asks, handing Bellamy his guitar.

“Yeah, yeah. You guys ready?” he looks to the rest of the band.

Jasper gives him a nervous grin. “As we’ll ever be. We flipped a coin, and Collins’ band is going first. They can be the warm up act, right?”

Bellamy can’t help but smile. “Right.” He moves to stand with them, and they watch as Finn’s band get properly set up. As Bellamy had expected, they have a group of supporters up at the front, among them Clarke’s friends. Finn stops to talk to Clarke, leaning close to her like he’s telling a secret. It’s a conscious effort for Bellamy not to furrow his brow - but he didn’t even known Finn was friends with Clarke.

“Hey,” Finn says, stepping up to the microphone. “My name’s Finn. I hope you’re ready for what we’ve got for you.”

To be fair to Finn, which is a stretch, his band isn’t bad. He’s the lead singer, because of course he is, and he can carry a tune. One could even argue he carries a tune _well_. Technically, his bandmates are flawless - they execute everything with a precision that Bellamy can tell came from years of training. Their song, something about space or true love, Bellamy can’t tell, is catchy, well-written, with some lyrics Bellamy kind of wishes he could write.

But, honestly, it’s just boring. Bellamy has always loved live music, and honestly, it’s a little heartbreaking that someone was actually able to mess that up for him and make a live song uninteresting. Finn is singing like he thinks he has charisma dripping out of his ears - so he doesn’t need to do anything to make it interesting, which, no.

The amount of applause Finn gets is a little disheartening - it’s like these people have never seen music performed live before, so they have no idea how it’s supposed to feel. Whatever about Bellamy’s band and their merit - no one should be so sheltered that they think Finn’s band is what constitutes good live music.

Finn gives the room a smile so fake-looking Bellamy wants to throw up a little, and his band clear the area so Bellamy’s band can move in. 

As Bellamy leads the others to where Finn’s band had stood, Their welcome is... less warm. Other than Clarke, Bellamy doesn't recognise anyone in the practice room, and he'd be surprised if anyone in the room actually knew all of their names.   
  
They do get some polite applause as they set up, so that's saying something.

Once everything’s set up, Bellamy clears his throat and positions himself in front of the microphone.

“Hi, everyone. Uh, I’m Bellamy,” he looks over at the others, and Monty gestures for him to keep going. “That’s Monty on bass, to my left is Jasper, Murphy’s the bastard on keyboard, and behind us is Miller. Be patient with us, thanks,”

There’s a few smiles from the students in front of him, which is mildly encouraging, so Bellamy gestures for the others to get ready.

Despite having a ‘crowd’ of less than forty people, Bellamy can’t help but grin once he hears the opening bars of the song fill the room, practically head-banging in time with the music. Jasper’s hours of practice is immediately evident as he hits every note in the opening riff, and the delight in his face nearly makes Bellamy forget to start singing.

Maybe it’s because he’s a little too afraid to look out at their spectators, but Bellamy goes through most of their first verse watching his bandmates, exchanging smiles and energy with them. They’re all moving in time with the song, like there’s some kind of chord tying each of them to each other. Bellamy’s not a great dancer, but this is the closest he’s come to that kind of synchronization.

He throws himself into the chorus, headbanging again with nearly every second word. It’s not his fault - Miller wrote a great song. When he takes a look at the students watching them, he’s actually surprised by the amount of people who actually look into it.

Bellamy feels nerves that hadn’t been present all day rise as the song draws to a close, Jasper’s last guitar chord ringing out in the speakers. The applause is more than polite.

The part of Bellamy that loves being on stage, loves being the centre of attention, wants to stay and bask in the sound of it, in the proof that just because they’re a band of scraps from Shumway, it doesn’t negate any talent they had.

He lets himself look over to Clarke for the first time since he got in front of the microphone, and immediately feels his mood drop. Her eyes are on the ground, and the people she’s with look as if they’re interrogating her. Bellamy’s eyes go to the phones in her friends’ hands, and puts two and two together. He sees a few of the other people standing near Clarke watching her, and then checking their phones, and it’s like a ripple effect.

He looks to Miller. “I gotta take care of something, okay?”

He takes his guitar from around his shoulders and leans it gently against one of the speakers, and starts walking towards Clarke. There’s not a lot of people talking to her, but he doesn’t want it to get any worse.

“Clarke, hey,” he says, when he gets close enough. She looks up at him, her expression something he can’t read. Against his better judgement, he puts his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here.”

On one hand, he feels ridiculous, because the whole situation feels like he’s her bodyguard, getting her out of the room, away from prying eyes, which is totally not his role, not his relationship with her. But he has a feeling in his gut that even if every one of Clarke’s instincts was telling her to get out of there, she’d stay, to save face. So he has to help her out, even if it’s just to get her out of the room when she wouldn’t have done it herself.

He doesn’t say anything to her until they’re sitting on a bench out the back of the school, and even then, he can’t really think of anything to say.

“Was it okay for you to just leave like that?” Clarke finally says, breaking the silence

“Pretty sure that’s not your biggest priority right now,” he replies, scratching at the back of his neck.

She looks over at him. “Still, your friends will probably be mad.”

He shrugs. “They’re my friends. They’ll get it.”

She lets out a sigh. “Wish mine were like that. They’re probably having a field day, right now.”

“Come on, it’s probably not that bad.”

“Bellamy, please. Just ‘cause you go to school with them, don’t pretend you get how they work. With them, it’s always - ” she pauses, grasping for words. “Always about status. What school your father went to, what law firm your older brother’s in… This whole … thing puts me at the bottom of the food chain. They’re going to be unbearable.”

He can’t help get mad, hearing the absolute hopelessness in her voice “That’s all such  - such bullshit.”

“Bellamy - ”

He turns, and makes sure he’s looking her in the eye.

“No, hey, listen. What’s wrong with where you are right now? What you’re doing? Who cares if your apartment isn’t a mansion in the rich side of town. You have a roof over your head. Are you gonna freeze to death? Are you gonna starve? That’s how you live, it’s how I live, it’s how Monty and Jasper live. There’s nothing ‘bottom of the food chain’ about it.”

His hands are in fists by the time he stops talking. He didn’t mean to end up in a mini-rant like that, but it’s always annoyed him - when people think they’re in a higher place socially than him just because they paid more for where they live. Worse, is when people like him actually believe they deserve to be looked down upon for where they live, or what their parents do. He doesn’t want that mentality to infect Clarke, not when she could get over it.

They’re quiet for a while, until Clarke bumps her shoulder against his. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

When three o’clock comes, and the free period ends, the two of them head back inside. Clarke lifts her hand in goodbye as she heads to class, and he does the same.

He collapses into his seat in the back of his English class, his only class, to immediate interrogation.

“What was that about, Blake?” Murphy asks, turning around in his seat.

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

“You cosying up with an Arkadia girl now?”

“Shut up, Murphy.”

“Seriously, Bellamy.” Monty asks, his voice actually concerned. “What happened?”

“Clarke - ”

“That’s the girl?” Miller interrupts, and it genuinely feels like it’s for clarification, not to be a dick.

“Yeah. She lives in my apartment block. Her family’s going through a lot of shit, and it’s like, in the news or whatever. I’m not gonna be a dick and just leave her to the dogs, alright?”

Jasper cocks his head in consideration. “Are the Arkadia kids the dogs?”

“I always pictured them as like, those hairless cats that look like they know how to kill you, but won’t,” Monty interjects.

“You’re giving them too much credit, they’re obviously snakes.” Miller says.

“Snakes, dude, really?” Monty laughs.

“It was right there!”

Bellamy laughs along with the rest of them, hearing their unspoken forgiveness as they joked around.

\--

Bellamy’s phone rings on his way home.

“Yeah, O?”

“Can you stop off in the convenience store and get some cereal? We’re out.”

“Can’t you just have toast for breakfast or something?” he asks, which is pointless. His sister knows he’ll do anything she asks.He understands that most sibling relationships aren't like his and Octavia’s, but most siblings haven't had to go through what they have.

“Bell, c’mon. It’s on your way. When do I ever ask you to do anything?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, play that card. I’ll see you soon.”

As always, stepping into the convenience store near Bellamy's apartment is like stepping into a kind of twilight zone where the sun has been replaced by a fluorescent light and night has conceded all 24 hours to day.

Which probably explains the otherworldly feeling he gets when he sees Clarke eating a packet of crisps by the window, eyes tired, hair falling out of a plait. He smirks, as seems to be his default upon seeing her.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he says, once she's removed her headphones.

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Hi, Bellamy.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, and hopes the answer isn't loaded.

She flashes her phone. “Just listening to music.”

“Oh, what are you listening to?” he tries to get a look at the screen, but she pockets her phone quickly.

“No you can’t - ” she pauses.  “It’s a - It’s a song Finn wrote. It calms me down.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and tries to breeze past the mention of Boyband himself. “So you’re just, listening to music to calm down… in the convenience store.”

She blushes, caught out. “I can’t help but think there’s gonna be some people coming by today.”

“So your plan’s to, what? Stay in the convenience store all night?”

Her gaze falls to the ground. “I may not have had a plan.”

He fixes his eyes on her, weighing pros and cons as he takes her in. Dark circles under her eyes. He could weird her out. Nails bitten to stubs. She needs somewhere safe. She still has her schoolbag with her. He could piss off Finn.

He's not sure if that last one is a pro or a con. When she looks up from the floor into his eyes, he takes the leap. “Just -” he swallows. “Swap places with me, okay?”

She blinks up at him, and he wonders if their entire relationship will just consist of him coming up with ideas that she’ll find crazy. “Listen, if they come to yours, I can answer the door, tell them they have the wrong place. It mightn’t work long time, but it’ll be okay, for a little while. You can stay in mine, so there’s no way they’d see you.”

“Okay.” she says, which nearly bowls him over.

Octavia, of course, when he explains the whole thing to her, finds it fucking hilarious. Clarke’s standing by the TV, eyes to the floor, as Bellamy tries to get his sister to stop laughing.   
  
"Bell, you realise if you like a girl, you can just ask her out, and not go through," she waves her hand in front of her face dismissively. "All this."   
  
Bellamy has to stop himself from huffing. It's not like that, okay? Just - just be nice to her, okay? Don't make it weird."

Octavia just grins. “Please, if either of us is going to make this weird, it’s you.”

“How would I make it weird?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

She pats him on the shoulder. “You have a gift.”

With that, she skips out of the room, waving to Clarke as she leaves. Bellamy fights the urge to groan. He might have the people at Arkadia convinced he’s some kind of badass, just by virtue of going to Shumway, but his sister always sees right through him. It would be endearing, if it wasn’t so inconvenient.

He turns to Clarke. “So, you already know where to sleep.” She smirks at him, and Octavia’s so wrong, it’ll be fine.

Her room is exactly as he remembers it, fairly uninteresting. There’s notebooks and pens scattered across the desk, and a picture of a young Clarke on the swings with a young boy, both smiling gap-toothed grins at the camera. Naturally, it’s when he’s nosing around her room that she calls.

“Hey, Clarke,” he answers, as he’s inspecting the posters on the walls.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“So, I was thinking - let’s agree not to look at each other’s stuff or anything, yeah?” she says, just as he pulls one of her drawers open. When he finds it full of underwear and things he _really_ didn’t need to see, he physically recoils.

“Yeah, good idea.” he answers, closing the drawer, immediately trying to forget the sight of Clarke’s bras. That’s information he never needed.

“Okay, cool,” she says, sounding about as convinced as he is. He’s not sure the weirdest part about the situation, the fact that he’s in her room, amongst all her stuff, or that she’s amongst all his. He brought his guitar with him, but that’s basically it. Off the top of his head, he can’t think of anything incriminating, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing _embarrassing._ He gets why she called him, and honestly, if she hadn’t, he probably would have picked the phone up.

“Cool.”

“Okay, I’ll - I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up, and he feels weirdly antsy. He sits on her bed, and immediately rises. God, this was a terrible plan. He’s torn between wanting to respect her wishes - he doesn’t want her snooping around his stuff, so he shouldn’t snoop around hers - and his own pure curiosity. He knows so little about Clarke, and here’s all his questions, answered.

He decides to pick up his guitar, hoping an hour or so of practice will distract him. And it nearly does. He runs through their song for the Polis contest, the song he sang for the guides that one time, a few songs he knows off the top of his head. He’s picking his way through a Hozier song when his eye catches on a sketchpad he saw the first time he was there.

He debates with himself for a few moments, before setting his guitar gingerly on her bed and going to pick the sketchpad up. Flicking through the first pages, there’s nothing that stands out. A bowl of fruit, a vase of flowers. One he stops at is a man at a table, holding a mug in his hands. There’s a softness in the lines around his eyes, and Bellamy’s heart stutters a little when he sees ‘ _Dad_ ’ pencilled in Clarke’s handwriting. There’s some interesting sketches of nature scenes, and then -

Bellamy’s hand that was turning the page freezes. It’s a sketch of  - well, of him. His eyes are closed, his hair a mess of curls, drawn in serious detail. He never paid much attention to his freckles, but Clarke’s put time into each one that’s scattered on his face. He looks so vulnerable in it, it’s like seeing himself naked, even though it’s essentially just his sleeping face. There’s no date, or title, but if he were to guess, he’d say she drew it after she stayed in his.

He feels his heart clench, and he closes the sketchpad.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

\--

Bellamy knows that their Algebra teacher is definitely saying _something_ , at the front of the room, but it’s at such a monotonal level that it’s basically background noise as he drifts to sleep, head resting on his arm. The rain outside is hammering against the window and acts as a soft lullaby, only helping him fall deeper asleep.

“Bellamy,” Monty whispers, poking him with his pen. If it was literally anyone other than Monty, he’d ignore them, or flip them off. But since it _is_ Monty, he opens one eye in response.

“Check your email!” he mouths, eyes darting to the front of the room to make sure he’s not caught.

Confused, Bellamy pulls his phone out of his pocket, keeping an eye on the teacher as he follows Monty’s instructions.

The first thing he sees: Polis Entertainment, in bold, subject: Congratulations. He nearly lets out a shout of delight right then and there. Instead, he settles for drumming on Miller’s back in excitement. Miller turns around, unamused, but before Bellamy can explain himself, their teacher catches them out.

“Mr. Blake, Mr. Miller, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

The two of them make brief eye contact. “No, sir.”

“Then keep the shenanigans to a minimum, yes?”

Bellamy can see Clarke out of the corner of his eye, looking at him with a puzzled expression. He swallows down the part of him that wants to text her the good news straight away, and pretends to pay attention to the class.

Bellamy brandishes his phone in front of Miller the second the class ends, resting his head on his shoulder as Miller reads the email aloud.

“‘We would like to congratulate you on successfully’ - wait, we got in?” Miller says incredulously. 

Bellamy wraps his other arm around his shoulder, clutching him in a brief, rare hug. “We did it, we got in!”

Jasper and Monty are chattering excitedly at each other, talking about a hundred miles an hour. Murphy’s behind them, pretending he’s not smiling at them, pretending he’s not happy too. Bellamy fights the urge to pull them all into a group hug right there and then.

“Good thing we won the practice room,” Miller muses. “We’re going to need it.”

“Wait, we won it?”

Miller blinks at him. “Did we not tell you? After you ran off with Lady Arkadia there was a vote and we won,”

Bellamy winces slightly at that, and hopes Miller doesn't pick it up. “That's really great. I wasn't sure the Arkadia student body was ready for us.”

Miller snorts. “Yeah, we’re real revolutionaries.” And then, because he's Miller, and his best friend, and a dick, he adds, “What's going on with you two? You and Lady Arkadia?”

He always feels guilty, whenever he thinks of Clarke in the context of the band. Which doesn't even make _sense_ , because it's not like there's anything going on between the two of them.

“Nothing. We're neighbours, like I told you, and she's pretty cool, actually.”

Miller makes a sound that could be a cough or a laugh. “I’ll take your word for it. As long as you show up to practice, she can be whatever you say she is.”

Bellamy makes a face at him, which he returns. When Miller turns to join Monty and Jasper’s conversation, Bellamy glances over at Clarke, because he’s allowed to indulge himself once, okay? She’s already looking at him when he turns to look at her, and he’s pretty sure a faint blush creeps up on her cheeks. She says something, but the classroom’s too loud for him to hear her, so he just waves his phone at her.

**Clarke** : What happened during class? I thought Monty was gonna have a heart attack

**Me:** We got into the Polis Entertainment Festival

Did I tell you about that?

She looks up at him across the room and shakes her head.  Her expression is coloured with something he doesn’t recognise, and pockets her phone instead of answering. Before he can properly think about it, the teacher for their next period walks in, and drags his attention away.

Bellamy spends his free period that day in the practice room with the others, making more noise than actual music. Something that’s always been at the heart of everything they’ve done has been synchrony - being able to just fuck around on instruments, but to fuck around while in time with each other.

His blood is singing when he steps out of the practice room; he can feel his grin wide and pure. Behind him, Miller has his arm around Monty’s shoulder, a show of affection usually alien to Miller. He can hear the dregs of an argument between Jasper and Murphy, which mostly consists of Murphy saying to Jasper ‘Listen, you fucking nerdlord,’.

He’s a few steps out of the room when he spots Clarke ahead of him, and he’s about to jog up to her, to share his excitement about getting into the competition when he hears someone call her name.

A few feet ahead of Clarke, Finn is standing at his locker with a smile on his face that is probably meant to convey joy, but isn’t really great at pulling it off. Maybe Bellamy’s biased.

“We got in!” Finn’s saying to Clarke as she nears him, and honestly, it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. Finn envelops Clarke in a hug, and she’s smiling, and Bellamy learns that they’ll have to face Finn’s band again at the Polis festival. Which - not great. Bellamy walks past them, pretending (for whose sake?) that he doesn’t care.

Clarke hugging Finn. Yeah, not great.

If Bellamy was a practical teenager, he would over-examine his emotions at night, in the safety of his bed, where he can groan and roll over in embarrassment in peace. He would wait until he was completely alone with his thoughts to figure out why Clarke hugging Finn makes his heart sink, why the smile on his face is replaced with a fake one the second he walks by them.

If he was reasonable, he wouldn’t try to decode his feelings for Clarke in the middle of Spanish, even if it is the last class of the day. He’s still sort of out of it when the final bell goes, and it doesn’t click with him that it’s still raining until he gets to the door of the school and sees the rain coming down.

The rain isn’t really a problem until he’s getting off the bus, because then he’s just stranded at a bus stop, with the rain pouring down, still a long enough walking distance from home.

“Bellamy!”

What’s weird, Bellamy realises, when he thinks about it later, is that he never usually sees Clarke on this half of the journey home. He’ll see her when he’s walking home from the bus stop, but never at the bus stop, or on the bus. Still, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is to see her standing a few feet away from him, hiding in the bus shelter too.

He can’t help himself, he smiles. “Hey,”

She looks out to the rain, scrunching her face at it, like if she offends it it’ll go away. “You don’t have an umbrella, do you?”

He shakes his head. He reaches his hand out into the rain, clarifying that, yep, it’s raining. And then, he feels a smirk and an idea take over his face.

“Hey,” he says. “Race you to the corner store a block away. Loser has to buy an umbrella. Deal?”

“Seriously?” she raises an eyebrow, the image of scepticism.

“One,” he says. “Two.”

“Bellamy…” she warns.

“Three!” he starts sprinting, not daring to check if she follows. He’s nearly a few stores away when he feels her grab his backpack, dragging him to slow down, trying to pass him out. He can’t help but laugh as he tries to dislodge her, slipping on the wet pavement. He catches up with her in seconds, and returns the favour, eliciting a shriek from Clarke. He’s nearly at the store front when Clarke grabs hold of him again, beating him to the door.

They’re walking home, and she’s still laughing at him. “Wow, I’m really glad I got to save my money.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s the polite thing for me to do.” Bellamy says. “You know, as the gentleman.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Please.”

They keep walking, Bellamy holding the umbrella for the two of them. Bellamy scrambles for something to say, preferably not about Finn. About anything.

“So you got into the Polis festival?” she asks, and he’s not surprised she’s the more competent human, who can make all kinds of conversation.

He still smiles, despite his own incompetence. “Yeah, we did. I’m really proud, actually. It’s like validation, you know? We think we’re good, but now people whose _job_ it is is to find good music agree with us.”

She smiles too, and his heart picks up. Just a little.

“Yeah, I get you.” she says. And then, like a second thought, “Finn got in too.”

Bellamy doesn’t try to visibly grimace, but he must, because she lets out a small laugh. He clears his throat. “So, you and Finn?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “What about me and Finn?”

“I didn’t know you two were a thing,” he says, refusing to make eye contact with her.

She sighs. “We’re not, really. He likes me.”

“And you?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs. “I guess I don’t _not_ like him.”

“Boring.”

“Shut up,” she says, all stern, but she’s smiling, and despite the topic of conversation, he feels like he’s won something.

“I guess it’s just -” she fiddles with her hair. “I’ve known him for a few years, and I know he’s liked me for a while. I was dating this girl when we met, so maybe that’s why I… why I don’t see him like how he sees me.”

Bellamy pauses for a minute, deciding his next sentence carefully. “Well, if you want my opinion, you don’t have to date a guy because you feel bad for not liking him. Does he know?”

She looks at him. “Know what?”

“That you were dating - someone when you met.”

She laughs, but drops her gaze to the ground. “I don’t think so? If I asked him, he’d probably just say he thought we were good friends.”

“Just gals bein’ pals.”

She laughs again, and really, he’s on a roll. “Yeah, I’m not sure he knows bisexuals exist.”

“Wow, another reason for me not to like him, great,” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes, but smiles too.

\--

Bellamy wouldn’t call his bandmates spiteful, or petty. Those don’t feel like strong enough words for the driving force that will push them to work harder and achieve anything, just to piss someone off.

They hold a grudge. With a passion.

So the knowledge that Finn’s band made it to the festival provokes an immediate and unanimous effort to practice more, both individually and together. It means they don’t finish until two or three in the morning sometimes, with part time jobs and everything, but Bellamy’s lucky, since the exhaustion doesn’t hit him until he’s home.

The sun’s barely rising over the city skyline by the time Bellamy makes it back from rehearsal, and the air is that kind of cutting cold that only happens in winter. He’s alternating blowing hot breaths on his fingers when he nearly crashes into Clarke on her bike.

“Jesus, Bellamy,” she says, skidding to a halt in front of him. He’s spent the walk home trying not to fall asleep standing up, so dealing with another person isn’t easy for him.

Still, he smiles at her, bleary eyed though he is. “You’re up early?”

“Yeah, I have a few hours in the convenience store before school,” she answers, with none of the exhaustion Bellamy’s feeling.

“What convenience store is open at this time? Who needs frozen pizzas that bad?”

“You never know,” she laughs, ducking her head. “What about you, why are you just coming home? Practice?”

He nods, yawning before he has the chance to speak. She laughs again, and really, she needs to warn him before she does that. He needs to prepare himself. She pats him on the shoulder as she starts to continue walking.

“Get some sleep. I’ll see you, Bellamy.”

She gets back onto her bike and he can’t help watch her. Just for a second.

\--

With less than a week to the festival, Bellamy can feel his friends’ nerves rising. They're in class (for once - the late night practices have been affecting them all), and Miller is tapping two pens against his legs like drum sticks. Monty and Jasper have developed an unsettling kind of stillness, the kind that tells you their minds are working too fast for the rest of them to keep up.

By the end of the day, all they can talk about is the performance.

“I still feel like we could do better, performance-wise, y’know?” Monty is saying, gesturing with his hands.

Jasper slings his arm around his shoulders. “Monty, I’m telling you, we’re gonna be great,”

“Still, an extra set of eyes - a third party, just to watch and make sure -”

“Oh yeah? Have anyone in mind?” Miller interrupts, a smirk on his face that Bellamy doesn't trust.

“We can always ask your girlfriend, right Bell?” Murphy says, elbowing him in his side.

He furrows his brow. “Who?”

“Lady Arkadia,” he does a weird flourishing gesture with his hand. “Clarke. She's your friend, right?”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

“You should ask her, Bell. This is a festival, performance is key!” Monty says, dislodging himself from Jasper to focus his attention on Bellamy.

“Look! There she is!” Jasper says, and starts waving frantically. “Hey, Clarke!”

Sure enough, walking past them with her headphones in is Clarke. She looks over at them quizzically and pulls one earphone out.

“Hey guys,” she says, walking towards them. “Bellamy.”

“Hey.” he responds, and doesn't really know where to go from there.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “What's up?

It takes him a second to get himself together. He looks over to Monty, who makes a ‘go-on’ gesture with his hands. “Uh, we need someone to watch our rehearsal, just to perfect our performance or whatever. Would you be free to do that?”

She grins, the disarming kind. “Yeah, I'd love to. I have work ‘til late today, but I'll try get off early. I'll call you?”

“Great, thanks.”

It is not great, thanks. Later, at rehearsal, Bellamy’s anxious in a way he never is, and he’s doing that thing where he keeps looking over at the door, waiting for her to walk in. He texted her Miller’s address, since the school won’t let them stay after nine, but she didn’t reply. He’s been trying to ignore that, or tells himself she’s probably working, but it still bothers him.

Octavia yawns as they run through the song again, after three covers of the Script just to change things up for her. He can’t even blame her - Aurora made him bring her to his late night rehearsals instead of leaving her home alone, and you can only hear a song so many times before it gets annoying.

As the guitar rings out over the speakers again, Murphy slams his hands on the keyboard in frustration. “Blake, I swear to god, if you look at the door one more time, I will leave this band. I am not joking.”

He’s about to come up with a stupid excuse, when the door finally swings open. It’s Miller’s dad, a bemused expression on his face, which seems to be a constant ever since Bellamy was young.

“A guest, Nathan,” he says, directing his speech at his son. Behind him, Bellamy sees a spot of blonde, and curses the way his heart leaps.

“Come on in, Clarke,” Miller calls, a know-it-all smirk on playing on his lips.

Clarke steps into the room, a shy smile on her face. She gives a small wave. “Hey, guys, sorry I’m late.”

Octavia jumps up. “Oh, it’s fine. Not like you were missing much anyway.”

Clarke coughs, but Bellamy suspects she’s covering a laugh. “Hi, Octavia.”

“Anyway,” Octavia says, heading for the door. “Now that you’re here, I don’t have to put up with this anymore. Later, roomie,”

Bellamy hopes the blush creeping up his neck at the roomie comment isn’t obvious, but the way Miller cuts a look at him makes him doubt he’ll get away with it.

It’s not like Bellamy’s never played in front of Clarke before; he remembers her in that little crowd in the practice room. Still, he can barely look at her as she’s perched on a broken amp, nodding her head in time with their song. She’s so close, so into the song, he doesn’t think he could actually not mess up his singing if he looked at her. But he catches her eye, and she smiles, encouraging and bright, and he can only imagine how stupid he looks.

She bursts into applause when they finish, and he mock bows, unable to keep a grin from his face. “You were great, guys, really. You have nothing to worry about.”

Later, when nearly everyone’s left, and Clarke’s talking to Detective Miller in the kitchen, Miller elbows him.

“Man, when did that happen?”

It takes Bellamy a second to process. “When did what happen?”

Miller rolls his eyes, like it physically pains him to be around Bellamy’s stupidity. “When did you fall for Lady Arkadia, dumbass.”

Bellamy splutters. “Wh- I - No, I am - Where did you get that idea from?”

Miller raises one eyebrow at him. “Blake, are you serious? You were basically heart-eyes looking at her. I wanted to throw up. I thought it was obvious..”

He groans. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Miller says, and pats his arm. “Sorry, man.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

As time passes, and days count down to the festival, Bellamy’s thoughts revolve more and more around the festival. He’s walking home, running through chords, again, when he hears Clarke call out behind him.

“Bellamy!” she’s jogging towards him, still in her uniform. “Hey. Do you know how many times I called your name?”

He blushes. “Sorry. I’m a little distracted.”

“With the festival?” she asks, looking up at him like she can see through his soul.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “It’ll be our biggest show ever. We can do it it’s just - ”

“Nerve-wracking?”

“Yeah,” he glances over at her. “Are you going?”

She grins. “Of course. I have to support and cheer on my guys,”

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but they don’t really listen to him, and get up anyway. “Your guys?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, like she knows she’s teasing him. “You guys, obviously. I’ve been to your rehearsals, I’m invested now.”

He ducks his head on a smile, not wanting to be too obvious. “That’s - That’s great. The guys will appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” she huffs a small laugh. “The guys.”

They walk for a little longer in silence, as Bellamy fights all his desires to reach for her hand. He’s caught up thinking about that when she skips a foot or so ahead of him.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey?”

“Have you ever - ” she frowns. “Have you ever heard someone with a voice like yours before?”

He looks over at her. “Uh, no? I mean, I guess it’s possible, but I haven’t. Why?”

“It’s just - you know, I told you about that song that Finn wrote?” she asks, and clearly she’s puzzled.

He remembers. “The one that calms you down.”

“Yeah, it’s - the voice is really unique, y’know? It kind of makes you feel safe,” she’s not looking at him when she says it, which is what makes him take her seriously.

“The singer of Finn’s song’s voice?” he says, not sure he’s following her.

“Yeah. Here, listen.”

She reaches into her pocket and fiddles for a second. She hands him her phone, and then starts untangling headphones. She plugs them into her phone, and hands one earbud to him, then hits play.

It takes the song a second to start, and then something amazing happens.

_“There’s just one thing I have to say to you - ”_

He hears his own voice playing over the phone. He nearly yanks the earbud out of his ear. “Finn wrote this?"

Clarke’s smirking, like she knows what he’s thinking. “Yeah. It’s good, right? Finn got mad at me, ‘cause I said I preferred the singer to the song itself. I always - I always find it’s the singer that makes the song, not the other way around, you know?”

He nods slowly, shellshocked. “Yeah,”

It’s surreal, walking down the street, listening to his own voice playing from his crush’s phone, but it’s not something he’s going to complain about. Something warm settles in his stomach, and he fails to fight off the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

\--

He is, with no exaggeration, a total bag of nerves the day of the festival. They decide not to go to school, if only to avoid conflict with Finn’s band, which actually turns out to be a terrible idea, because they have nothing to distract them all day. They practice until Murphy’s ready to bang heads against tables, and even after that Bellamy can see Miller banging out the song with his fingers.

When he wakes up, there’s a text from Clarke in his phone that doesn’t help his overall state of being all day.

**Clarke** : Good luck!! I know you’ll be great !!

See you later x

If he wasn’t so busy panicking about their performance, he would be panicking about that one ‘x’.

They finally leave for the festival at four, each of them their own specific type of nervous - Miller, quiet and fidgeting, Monty and Jasper, loud, chatty and fast, and Murphy, angry and silent. Octavia’s in the back of Detective Miller’s people carrier, screeching out lyrics to whatever godawful pop song she’s convinced them to play. It’s a distraction, at least.

The stage, when they see it, nearly bowls them over.

“I’m in love.” Jasper says, the second they lay eyes on it from backstage. Bellamy ruffles his hair.

“Shut up.”

They’re not first up, so they can’t set up yet, but they watch other acts getting ready and doing soundcheck, and he feels something alive and burning, and he can’t stop smiling. Even when they run into Finn, he can’t actually get that mad.

“Collins,” Murphy says, when Boyband passes them. The elated atmosphere must be getting to Finn too, because he does nothing but spare a disdainful look for Murphy before continuing on his way.

“Is it something I said?”

Octavia stays backstage with them, and watches from the side as the first act goes on. They’re good, a band from the next state over that have this kind of vegan, treehugger vibe going for them, but it’s working. His phone buzzes just as their song’s coming to an end, and he steps away to check.

**Clarke** : They were good, but you guys are better!!

Can’t wait to see you

The crowd burst into applause not too far from him, and it’s weird, knowing Clarke’s out there, looking forward to seeing him. Excitement curls in his gut, and he knows it’s not just in anticipation of performing live.

They don’t stick around to watch Finn’s band’s performance, and instead get out of their way. Octavia does some last minute checks on their clothes, and Jasper checks for the billionth time that his guitar’s in tune.

He looks around at his friends, watches as their gazes are intent on their own things. Miller and Monty are sitting aside, talking amongst each other, a small smile on Miller’s lips. Murphy’s scrubbing at his keyboard, like the audience will be able to tell if it’s clean or not. He wants to say something to them, to encourage them, but his throat is clogged, and he’s not sure he could.

Finn’s band’s song draws to an end, and they’re being ushered onto the stage.

“Let’s do this,” he says, simply, as they get themselves ready, and they all exchange wicked grins as the lights fall on them.

The crowd is electric - they want him to do well, they want him to entertain them, and they’re more than willing to help out. They feel like they’re as excited to be there as he is, which doesn’t feel possible. As the first chords of their song sail out into the air, Bellamy already feels more comfortable, and seeing the crowd respond positively makes his heart practically sing. The red and purple lights that wash over the crowd cast them into a dreamlike hue, as they bounce and dance and bob heads along with them.

He thought his smile was wide enough, before he catches sight of Clarke. She’s alone, it seems, a soft smile on her face, like she’s simply enjoying taking it all in. They lock eyes, and she flashes him an encouraging thumbs up. It’s not much, but it feels like the world.

As the last chord rings out, Bellamy’s flooded with all of his feelings at once. He looks to his bandmates as the lights go down, hoping to avoid tears. Jasper’s grabbed the person nearest to him and forced them into a hug - which is Murphy, who, under any other circumstance, would kill him, but appears to be letting it slide for once. Miller’s leapt up from the drum set and has his hands anchored in Monty’s shirt, pulling him close for a kiss which Bellamy _never_ saw coming.

He grins wide, and wipes a stray tear from his cheek.

\--

The wind is cold against his face, and the lights of the city look small and far away. It’s quiet, and Bellamy can actually - think. Can relive the screams of the crowd, and feel the bass still running through his bones. He loves the attention, he’ll never deny that, but there’s something to be said for escaping to the silence of the rooftop to really soak it all in, even if it’s hours after it’s actually happened.

“What are you doing up here?”

It’s Clarke’s presence, as much as her voice, that shocks him into turning around. She’s clambering up the ladder, her expression amusement mixing with worry.

There’s her too, of course, to remember. The brilliance of her smile, when he caught her eye in the crowd, the way her hair framed her face, like a halo with the light behind her.

“Hey, Clarke,” he says, as he goes over, helping her up, and as always, fails to ignore the stir of feelings in his gut as he pulls her up. 

When he doesn’t answer he question, she raises an eyebrow. “Seriously, Bell. Why are you up here? I thought you’d be celebrating. You guys were great!” 

She’s beaming at him, wide and proud, and he can’t help smile a little too. “Yeah, I - I know I seem like the frontman at all times, but I just - wanted to be alone, you know? Sit with my thoughts. Think about how I got this lucky.”

 She looks up at him, fond and impatient, and he can’t believe he’s barely known her a matter of months - the look in her eyes seems to know him so well. She nods slowly, then.

 “Okay,” she says. “Mind if I join you?”

 He opens his arms, indicating the empty roof. “It’s not like I’m short on space. You sure you want to? It’s cold, you don’t have to stay up here to keep me company.”

“Bellamy,” she says, and there’s that gentle fondness again. “I want to.”

He swallows, not sure what to reply to that. She smiles again and he doesn’t know when her smile became his favourite, but it sparks something warm deep in his heart.

“Okay,” he says, finally. Lamely. “If you’re sure.”

She rolls her eyes, like there’s something he’s not getting. “Bellamy. I want to - ”

She stops, and looks at him like she’s sizing him up. It reminds him weirdly of the first few times they met, like she’s weighing up pros and cons of even being around him.

She takes a deliberate step towards him. “I want to be _with you_ _,_ Bellamy.”

Her words are heavy, and they nearly blindside him. For a second, his breath all leaves his body, and time feels like it’s suspended. He reaches out gently, and slowly entwines Clarke’s fingers in his, and pulls her to him. His fingers feel like they’re burning where they touch hers, all electricity and energy. His hand goes to her jaw, and she’s already on her way to meet him halfway when he goes to kiss her.

Even if asked under interrogation, Bellamy would never admit to thinking about kissing Clarke. It’s the kind of thing his mind wanders to in class, before he blushes and tries to focus on _anything_ else. He knows, though, that even if he’d spent all his days thinking about kissing Clarke, it never would have got close to the real feeling. The feeling of her lips, warm and kind of chapped on his, her fingers tangling in his hair, the cold press of her nose against his.

He goes to pull back and she chases his mouth for a moment, and he can’t help but laugh. She looks up at him, blush colouring her cheeks. They stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, his hand on her jaw, hers in his hair. Then she pulls him closer and starts kissing him, sweet, the kind of sweet he’s not used to - the kind that feels like possibility and a hot chocolate at the end of a long day. She kisses him like she’s coming home, and he has really and truly fallen for her.

  



End file.
